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Underestimating anything is generally the final ingredient for failure. I've underestimated how much past loves cared for me. That never ended well. I've underestimated how long car repairs would take and nearly missed all of Easter dinner one time. I ended up awfully hungry, then. Underestimating a trek up the second tallest mountain in Romania, was certainly not going to end well, but maybe there would be food.
Part of what brought on a cocky attitude towards the Bucegi massif and Mt. Omu, is that two days prior I climbed Mt. Moldoveanu, and even higher and longer trek than it would be to the top of Mt. Omu, the second tallest mountain in Romania. The Bucegi massif is filled with trails and 8000ft valleys that largely are accessible by cable car and offer the home of weekend-trekking pensioners the world over. Footing it up to Mt. Omu, was supposed to be a breeze.
My shoulders were worn raw and my entire head was going through a snake-shedding second peal from earlier that week. With every move my legs were once again reminding me I have far more muscles than weight lifting and hockey ever intended me to use. On the way back to Bucharest after my last trek, I had the fortune of meeting up with some young trekkers on the train who just completed the Omu climb. Along with my stack of Google Earth prints, pirated terrain maps and notes they gave me about what to do and not to do, the slow train from Bucharest to Busteni, gave me ample time to plan the trek. Very ample. This train labeled “P” for “personal,” certainly gave me some personal time, in a penalty box kind of way. In fact, I'm pretty sure we stopped at every station between Bucharest and Busteni and went back just to make sure we didn't leave anyone.
From Sinaia to Busteni, one can't help but gaze westward at the Bucegi massif. It is said the cliff faces towering over the Prahova valley, are the tallest in Europe. By any measure, to include where Europe ends and starts, that's intimidating. Near the top of Mt. Caraiman, and right on the cliff face overlooking Busteni, is a large cross paying homage to the Romanians who lost their life in battle during WWI. It is said the 100ft tall cross at 7,700ft, when lit at night can be seen by passing astronauts. With a telescope, perhaps, but indeed the cross is mighty and few in the Prahova valley and beyond can go a day without taking some pause to this majestic marker of remembrance and freedom.
I arrived in Busteni only an hour latter than planned at 600pm, giving me a solid four hours of daylight. Make that three hours of solar vision as the sun would set on the other side of the mountains bringing darkness to my side much earlier. The small Busteni train station was nearly ghost like at this hour but a wealth of information greeted me just outside. On a covered billboard were several maps and information notices, many with the internationally recognized warning triangle and pictures of cuddly bears next to them.
The maps were tacked up in plastic sheets like you would use to place loose leaf papers in a spiral. Not having a proper map, I was tempted to just take one but that would surely lead to bad karma someday. I avoided the five finger discount urge and instead respected the candidness of which they were placed. Bears in Bucegi and the valley are a problem. Romania is home to the largest black bear population in Europe (so it is said) and these particular bears are most dangerous in that they aren't afraid of humans. With countless years of hand feeding and careless trash disposal, the bears act as toll agents for the mountains, collecting your food instead of cash. There are numerous reports of Yogi getting upset over lack of payment and taking a tourist's head off.
Having figured out the estimated time to Caraiman cabana, I could've used some motivation from an angry bear to get me there before sundown. My underestimated stroll was now going to be a race to manage an estimated four hour climb down to three. Fail, and I'll be stuck on a cliff side with strong storms expected during the night hours. And bears.
Busteni is a quiet alpine village shunning the popularity of Sinaia for the rugged trail head the city serves to less populated trails during the summer and black diamond slopes during the winter. The cable car leaving from the Silva Hotel serves two drop-off points on top of the Bucegi massif but the last car left at 400pm and besides, I don't take cable cars. I was fortunate to find an open souvenir shop at my trail head and purchased a rather decent trail map. Unfortunately I found out I would be trekking up nearly 4000ft in a distance as long as half my index finger when placed on the map. The bears were waiting.
As I mentioned, underestimating anything leads to an unattractive end. Worse, your motivation weans and your adrenalin subsides making unforeseen challenges more difficult than not. Thus, I was scaling the side of a rock by hanging on preset cable and fasteners rusted with time, while gazing across the ravine through an endless forest. It was at this moment I realized my estimating skills needed a quick rework or I'll be bear meat tonight.
Rather like the motivation one feels when an opposing team scores the first goal on the first play, the adrenalin kicks in and the forces of competition rise to hopefully meet the occasion. The path I chose to the Bucegi massif was not my grandmother's weekend trail and with that, I got serious. Bucegi got serious too.
Making good time and working the “assisted” cliff sides well, I was more than happy to clear the deep alpine forest area for more light and less bugs. Stopping for a breath or photo turned me into a human cow for flies to leach on and eat whatever they could of my body. All they got was a mouth full of DEET, so take that buggy things! With the melting snow, racing mountain creek, seasonal avalanches and eroding mountain, the trail was difficult, steep and the markers were becoming rare, mindlessly criss crossing the creek at improbable and impassable areas. What probably is normally a shallow crossing, was now a swift current undermining any step in the crystal clear water.
Bucegi nearly did me in when the trail marker pointed straight into a snow bank some ten feet high and spreading the width of the ravine. I could scale up but I have no idea what's on the other side. I could cut across the lower part of the snow, knowing good and well the creek runs swift below the snow bank, eroding the density. At nearly 200 pounds with my pack, it wouldn't take much to crash through a trap door of a snow bank, fall quite a bit to the rocky creek and be smothered by the snow and debris caving behind me. So you can guess which way I went, straight across the snow bank. I held my breath, took quiet steps as I do walking through the business class cabin of an all-nighter so as not to wake anyone and hoped, at least this once, I didn't underestimate my situation.
With that final step on solid land, I looked back to find the path over the snow bank led to a cliff face making my final choice still unsafe, but not impassable. If you follow the “better safe than sorry,” mantra when trekking, you might as well stay home as that's where you'll end up. There are numerous crosses scattered about mountains proving my theory wrong, but also showing that we must still determine daily the difference between “living” and “existing.”
Now back in the lead in the game against Bucegi, she rose to the occasion and provided near vertical trails at side stepping angles and mud to boot, or rather, to make your boots slip. With time not on my side, I took breaks infrequently and chose to give it my all as I knew the next day wouldn't offer such climbing challenges according to the terrain maps. The top of the mountain was in view and the valley hidden below by clouds. The sun was setting at just so of an angle that some of the rays were escaping the higher mountains and illuminating the crags on the south part of the ravine. The contrast was spectacular and I took refuge under a natural protruding cliff to escape a passing rain shower and admire my Bucegi competition at nearly 6000ft.
Rounding the last trail marker before a hands and feet accent to the now visible cabana, the air filled with mist and noise of crashing water from a ferocious waterfall pounding the earth below it some 500ft. I read earlier about the, “Screaming Falls,” and now I understand. Instead of a constant flow of water flirting with the sunlight and finishing with an Olympic “10” at the pool below, this flow of water seemed to be pushed, even powered, off the cliff face, determined to destroy anything below. And it was. The scale of rock debris under the falls was violent in retrospect and one could only gaze with respect and absolute avoidance.
The Caraiman Cabana rests rather uneasily on a cliff edge looking straight down to Busteni some 6000ft. The other side of the Cabana leads to the welcome massif of Bucegi with flowing hills and valleys bordered by some of Romania's highest peaks. The cabana was quiet and for a moment I was concerned it was closed. As I expected, the cabana was log cabin construction with a peaked roof so the snow could melt off and a desperate outhouse rested a bit in the distance. Telling of the continuing bear saga, the porch area was caged in on the scale and construction of what you would see with a shark cage.
Three large breed dogs announced my arrival and after coming to terms with these bear-guard dogs, they allowed me entry to the cabana. Rather like knocking on the door of a lone house in the middle of nowhere after your car has broken down (and remember this is Dracula country), I entered after no answer and followed the sound of a television game show in Romanian. Happily, I was greeted by a very charming couple with their teenage son. I've apparently interrupted Romania's version of, “The Weakest Link,” and with one eye on the show, the father shook my hand, took my $10 worth of Lei's and showed me to my room during the advert break.
This cabana is three stories with many rooms, all appearing to have five to six beds in each one. I, awkwardly enough, was the only guest this weekday evening. I changed out of my sweaty shirt into my cabana evening wear of fleece and headed to the cliff to watch the last of the sunset. Joining me was the cabana indoor dog, a small girl that grew smart not to the small bottle of wine I had, but my protein bars. She sat patiently with me between two iron crosses marking the cliff edge and the end of two journeys from years past that were perhaps, not so lucky with their underestimation of Bucegi.
The steep crags to the south were still illuminated with stolen rays of sunlight and passing clouds, upset by higher mountains, glowed orange with deep purple bottoms. The little girl wasn't amused with the sunset and, clearly well trained by cabana guests, reared up on her hind legs and used her front paws to motion me to give her a taste of my nasty protein bar. I suppose if I told her, “No beg,” that would mean little to her and besides, how could anyone refuse such a display of begging craft?
I bid goodnight to the cabana family, and went to my bed. The scratchy wool blanket wouldn't do so I rolled out my sleeping bag for a more comfortable night. This cabana, unlike the one I stayed at in the Fagarus mountains, had heat and electricity. Still, I lit a tea light on the bed post in order to read my book but succumbed to modern electricity so I could charge the camera batteries and iPhone. Much later with the tea light burnt out and book on my chest, I woke to a mean spirited thunderstorm that shook the cabana and rattled the windows. The lighting on top of the cliff was stunning but I fell right back to sleep thanking every muscle in my body for getting me up to the cabana for safe shelter that evening.
With the glow of dawn at 430am, I woke and readied my pack for the long day. Theoretically, I could make it the Caraiman cross, then to Omu and down to the train station by 600pm. I tiptoed out of the cabana so as not to wake the dogs and family and exited to a chilly but clear morning. The valley was still on the dark side but the sun was rising quickly at such altitude, displaying forceful rays through broken clouds.
The trail to the Caraiman cross was simplistic compared to the day before and I even caught a glimpse of a mother and baby Chamoix goat, looking at me in as much detail as I was looking at them. Rounding the south side of Mt. Caraiman, the early morning was well worth any extra sleep. The sun was at the perfect angle to shine right through the 100ft steel cross. The cliff edge and cross cast an artistic shadow across the Caraiman crest behind the cross while ghostly clouds drifted along the contours of the mountain. The valley was covered in broken fog and the sun worked hard at shoring it all up, while the rays of light danced from one departing night cloud to the next. Allow me to say it, the moment was heavenly. With the WWI memorial cross, the rising sun, the theatrical clouds and the casting shadow, there is no other description. Yes there is, biblically heavenly.
I'm quite sure while alone up here, with the epic memorial cross and soul searching scene, I could have talked to anyone I wanted to under God's eternal care. Instead, my mom yelled at me. The same rant she would go on after learning of any of my past adventures and dismissive approach to personal safety. Still, at this moment, it was a welcome motherly brief and reminder that my continued underestimation of the Bucegi massif could lead to trouble. Mother knew best in this case.
The trail led up the rest of the Caraiman mountain and straight into cloud approaching quite quickly. I know from years of flying clouds are no friends of anyone unless you are trying to hide in an aerial dog fight or your scalp is so fried from a day at the beach (or on the mountain) a passing cloud is a comfort enhancer. However, on a mountain you can expect wind, penetrating mist and zero visibility. Mom was trying to tell me something back at the cross!
Relying on the still well marked and worn trail, my limitless view turned to twenty and then ten feet. The temperature dropped nearly equally in degrees and the wind was no help. Occasionally, the cloud would either lift or blow by just enough that I could see the Costila weather station, at 8,195ft. This Apollo rocket ship of a station serves an important roll in eastern European weather forecasting and provided me an important land mark in order to keep my barrings while transversing the switchback mountain ridges. When I could see it.
Despite the visibility, I was making good time and was sure to cut at least 30min off the estimated three hour hike from the cross to Mt. Omu, Romania's second tallest mountain. Just past the weather station, the ridge line turned sharply west and the trail led right to the cliff edge. Following along for a bit at a precarious height, the clouds lifted to show a gaping mountain bowl leading to a ravine and then on to Busteni. Only, I didn't know that at the time, and thought I was one mountain valley away from where I needed to be.
The Chamoix goats are a protected breed at Bucegi and I ran into a herd of them at the Babele rocks. These two limestone rocks jump out of the ground with nothing else around them. Weathered by time, their unique formations are said (and here we go with Romanian sayings again) to depict an old lady (Dochia) being transformed into rock with her sheep in the same location. If the twenty odd Chamoix goats surrounding the two rock forms are any indication, then perhaps these Romanian sayings have some credibility. Nonetheless, being upwind from the goats, they picked up on my scent right away and took off covering so much ground so quickly I was immediately jealous I didn't have four legs and hooves.
I was feeling quite confident and enjoyed the partly cloudy view from above the clouds of the Bucegi massif. I think I was even whistling while I hiked at a good speed to Omu. The day was going well and then Mother Nature decided to have some fun at my expense and Bucegi's help. Apparently the game from the day before was back on.
The clouds moved in and I was back to ten feet visibility. The trail became a washout of snow and wondering creeks, making a free for all of possible trails. I became concerned when I saw two trial markers smashed against a large boulder. I wasn't so concerned at the moment of where the trail was going, but I was worried about what I couldn't see above me that would have caused two steel trail markers to be removed and sacrificed. Keep moving please.
The trail I was currently on wound down and right, yet my brain and map said to go left. Indeed, something that looked like a trail did the same. Markers were gone but random, half sheared off poles could be seen at various moments within the blowing cloud. I went left but that didn't seem right and went back to where I started. I took some rocks and made a marker and jotted down in my sketchbook what I did at said marker. I went right and that ended up crossing another snow flow but with a possible trail marker faintly visible on the other side. I couldn't tell where the snow flow ended in the cloud so I chose my steps carefully or risk sliding into the abyss of Bucegi. The marker ended up being a pole with no marker but good enough for me. The trail became narrow and then the goat poop showed up which meant I wasn't on the people trail. I also wasn't hunting goats so I've gone wrong again.
However, my terrain maps showed the ridge line would follow around to the ridge leading up to Omu. Well, it did, only I was on the wrong ridge. I got fancy at this point and pulled out the iPhone, fired up the GPS compass application I downloaded and in less than a minute, I had the exact coordinates on earth of where I was loss. Only, none of my maps had longitude and latitude coordinates so this helped me in no way. Still, I made more boyscout markers with rocks and made note of the coordinates in my sketchbook. I figured, given enough time, I'd make my own map by winter.
I scaled the side of some mountain and took a rest just in time for the evil cloud to lift enough for me to see some real trail markers deep in a valley. But that shouldn't have been. There shouldn't have been a trail at all in the direction I thought I was looking. Then I wondered if Omu was directly above me and with the near zero visibility, it might as well have. I should have just took a picture of the cloud and me, called it Omu and gone back the way I came. But I had an hour to kill before I actually had to do that.
I used that hour. The mind plays tricks on you when cloud walking. I even came across markers I thought I made, only to confirm with the iPhone GPS, I didn't. I found more of the trail markers I was looking for but clearly I had traced my steps way back to an earlier part of the trail. Sadly, I had no cell signal in this area or I would have downloaded a Google Earth location map faster than you can say $10 dollars for a data download. I was, in no uncertain terms, lost. I was so lost that I'm not sure I could have retraced my steps back to square one and my self-made map in my sketchbook looked something like a drunk, American football commentator's squiggly play lines.
I'm often astounded by the willingness of expedition leaders to put their entire operation at risk (meaning the lives of the entire group) in the name of completing the goal. I've led my cabin crews for years and learned quite a bit about leadership but I've never been put into a recreational situation (because that's what any mountain climbing expedition is) requiring me to instruct the group to move on despite the danger. But being completely lost, in a cloud, on a strange mountain and without any sort of panic button or way out, made me wonder what I would have done with a group following me.
Going back to the “living” and “existing” debate, there is no turning back. Retracing steps back to the cabana was doable but I'd have rather encountered a hungry bear in the cloud. Yes, I'd gone crazy at that point and now I understand the shear madness it takes to be an expedition leader.
Before I went totally mad, set camp and created my own little cloud world, I crouched down and using proper trail etiquette, took a bio-break. Read into that all you want, but it is what it is. I took a final GPS reading from the iPhone, not that I needed to mark my bio-deposit or anything and in that moment of calm clarity, the clouds lifted. Exposed, but happily alone, I saw it all with glorious sun. I'd done so many circles I created my own trails and ended up maybe 500 ft above where I got lost in the first place. I could see the markers I created. I could see the Apollo rocket weather station. I could see Omu. I could see the trail leading to the cryptic mountain top and most importantly, I could see the cloud dampened my toilet paper into a mulch.
Properly finishing up my business, I took some quick photos (of the view. Please) before it all went white again with another cloud. Second guessing the mountain less, I made haste down the correct trail and caught up with the proper markers. Spirits high, the steep mountain had met it's match with me and Bucegi no longer had the lead.
Mt. Omu is 8,218ft high, putting it about 200ft lower than the previously conquered Moldoveanu. Interestingly enough, Omu has a weather station and a cabana built right up next to a bizarre boulder at the top of the mountain. I nearly ran into the boulder as the stone was similar color to the cloud and at this point, I might as well have been in a sealed steam room. With a few minuets pause a rush of wind blew by and there she was, cabana Omu. The sense of accomplishment took a third seat to a very adolescent, “Take that Bucegi,” followed by a vindictive, “Nice try, cloud master.”
The cabana was small but tightly build, more than likely owning up to having to survive some serious weather conditions. There was no electricity or heat, but a grandmother, her daughter and her daughter's daughter seemed not to care. They had an entire menu planned for the evening and were preparing what looked to be a roast and vegetables in the multiple lantern lit kitchen. The floor of the eating area was solid rock with a few visible hand scrapings to level the floor out. Photos spanning since the 1920's provided wall decoration and solid wood tables provided seating. All I wanted was a celebratory coffee and by God, that grandmother made one hell of a cup of Romanian black coffee.
I reckon by the looks of the grandmother, I just accomplished her daily commute. That, or these ladies have no idea the revolution took place nearly twenty years ago because I left that cabana after having two coffees and two bags of pretzels (because I just couldn't stomach another protein bar) for $2US. I was still in the thickening cloud upon leaving the cabana but there was a trail marker and I guess a turn right after that minus the marker, but I didn't see it. My mocking of the forces to be after my arrival to Omu struck back. Happily heading down hill, my yellow markers turned to blue, which meant I was on the other side of the mountain. How I did that I have no idea but it happened.
I'd say I was blind as a bat but in a cloud, even a bat would have difficulty using sonar. I reversed course and headed up to the cabana to, oh this hurts even now, ask for directions. Before swallowing my pride, Mother Nature, done laughing at me, lifted the clouds and in great joy, I saw the yellow marked road. This time, I made like a goat and trekked straight down the mountain side, slipping here and there, but keeping my balance and speed up. I knew I had only a few minutes before vision would disappear again. It didn't.
The beautiful visibility of the morning came back. I was now in the bowl of the mountain valley leading to Busteni. All land marks were visible and I sat down on a rock and took it all in. I was so close and yet so far off track. I could see where I took my last, er, marker and couldn't believe I'd gone so wrong. Now though, I was surrounded by a mountain bowl outlined with snow, small waterfalls, impossibly free standing crags and a view of the valley covered in cotton soft clouds. My demeanor changed considerably and I contribute it to Grandma's coffee.
The final trek down was beautiful. I was ahead of schedule now and taking my time to enjoy the mountain. Much of the trail was washed out by winter turning to spring and then to summer, but obstacles were easily matched and as long as I was going downhill, I was going the right way. I went off trail to take photos of lower crags and caves and then the heather started to take over the rocks and alpine grass to soften my steps and bring some color to the scene. The euphoria every trekker looks for when a mountain is conquered provided an extra step in my stride. No longer underestimating Bucegi, my respect for her must have shown as she loved me back with brilliant views, clear skies and warming air.
Before the thick alpine forest began, I took a breather by a staircase of a falling creek. With the cold, fresh water, I cleaned up a bit and washed off two days worth of trekking. The cold water over my head left me breathless but it was immediately cleansing in so many ways. I filled up one last bottle of sediment free water, popped in an energy tablet, ate a disgusting protein bar and hummed my way into the alpine forest leading to the valley floor.
I passed through a number of sheep fields and shepherd shelters while negotiating a relaxing trail through the deep forest. Mindful I was still on the trail, I kept a lookout for Yogi the bear but truthfully, I was paying more attention to a darkening sky and thunderously loud shaking of the trees. This all seemed to blow by quickly and upon reaching Busteni, the sun shown brightly.
I reached the train station at 300pm, three hours ahead of schedule. Due to track construction, an earlier train sat stationary at the station. I ran to the ticket counter, pointed to the train and quickly received a ticket for a classy InterCity train (meaning air conditioned and comfortable) to Bucharest. To the probable dismay of the few surrounding passengers, I shucked my pack and boots off and immediately fell asleep to the rhythm of the train while basking in the self-glow of my accomplishment.
A day later back home in NYC, I used the map function of my iPhone to search out some possible venues that evening. My last bookmarked location was shown with the satellite image this time. I studied it for a while and zoomed in and out on the image and realized it was my last coordinates when lost. I was still in disbelief on how close I was to being on the right trail. No longer was this the location of where I was lost, but where I learned to never underestimate another mountain trek again.
